


The End?

by Aurora_bee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hurt, Love, Vampires, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurora_bee/pseuds/Aurora_bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets attacked chasing after a suspect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dying

John was running, breathing hard chasing after Sherlock. It was a horrible wet night in London, dark clouds hung almost motionless in the sky. There was no moon and the air pressure was starting to give John a headache. It was unnaturally humid. John was finding it hard to keep up but he daren’t stop, this suspect seemed like a right nutter. John tuned a corner and realised Sherlock was no longer in his line of sight. He could feel his heart beating like a drum in his chest. He could no longer hear the footfalls of the chase. He walked slowly into the alley holding his flashlight out in front of him. Something was wrong.

Carefully he tiptoed down the alley, trying to make as little noise as possible. John rounded a skip and flashed his light into the darkness. There was a scuffle. Someone ran into him knocking him onto the dirty stone floor. John heard a gurgle in the corner and got to his feet. He flashed his light in the direction of the noise. Sherlock lay pale as snow in a heap, his leather clad fingers at his neck. Blood was bubbling out of the corner of his mouth. John dashed to his side as Sherlock’s hand went limp, and he started to loose unconsciousness.

John shivered as he dropped to his knees in front of Sherlock. Sherlock’s pale eyes looked up as he realised most of Sherlock’s throat had been torn away. Blood was pouring out of Sherlock’s neck at an alarming rate. More than one of the arteries in his neck were severed. John ripped what he could grab of his shirt off and pressed it against Sherlock’s neck. It wouldn’t do any good. John trembled as he sucked air in through his nose. It wouldn’t do to cry, not when his friend was dying. Sherlock used the last of his energy to touch John’s hand, then it flopped down by his side. Sherlock’s eyes were still open but the light was gone. Sherlock was gone. John sat his back against the cold stone wall and pulled his friend into his lap. He kissed Sherlock’s dark curls and silently started to cry.

John didn’t know how long he’d been sat there when Lestrade turned up. He didn’t even notice him until Lestrade swore and tried to prise John away from the body.

“Come on mate, we’ve got to get you checked out.” Lestrade said coaxing him.

Then they took Sherlock away from him.

 

John sat in Sherlock’s chair staring at the wall. He’s checked himself out of the hospital. He wanted to be home, where the last vestiges of Sherlock were. Not in what he considered to be a clinical cell. Mrs Hudson had wrapped a blanket around him, brought him tea and sandwiches. He ignored her, ignored the food. Mrs Hudson went back to her flat crying, and he didn’t care less.

He stayed in the same position for hours staring at the wall thinking of all the things he could have done should have done. It wasn’t right the way Sherlock died, he should have said something, should have made Sherlock’s last moments on earth something to remember. He should have said ‘don’t leave me’ or more importantly ‘I love you Sherlock’.

John could hear someone on the stairs, they were making slow progress. Mrs Hudson’s hip must be playing up. He closed his eyes not wanting to deal with it right now. He was happy wallowing in his own pain. Something pulled at his trouser leg, he paid no attention at first but gradually he could feel cool fingers touch the skin under just above his sock. His eyes flew open.

“Sherlock!” He shouted pulling the other man up from the floor, and pulling him into a bone crunching hug. Sherlock winced a little so John pulled away. The gash was still there, John could see Sherlock’s spine through the hole if he tilted his head the right way. Sherlock smiled at him and he smiled manically back. He’d totally lost it, but it didn’t matter as long as he had Sherlock with him. Sherlock swayed, John helped him sit down in the chair he’d just vacated. It felt real John could feel the lithe body of his friend under his hands.

“John.” Deep baritone voice said. “I really don’t feel very well.”

John decided it would be a good moment to pass out and fell to the floor gracelessly.


	2. The begining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's think's he might be going mad, but doesn't care as long as Sherlock's there.

“John, John.” Sherlock called. John could feel the veil of unconsciousness start to lift. He looked up at the ceiling, wondering if it was all some nightmare. His eyes fluttered open and he focused on Sherlock still sat on his chair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you up.” Sherlock was breathing hard. John pushed himself into a sitting position to look at Sherlock. The gash in his throat was still there.

“What’s going on Sherlock?” He slurred. Sherlock raised his hand to his throat.

“I’ve no idea John, all I know is that I woke up in a black zipper bag in the morgue in Barts.” Sherlock’s lip trembled. John got to his feet and put his arm around his friend. John sat on the arm of Sherlock’s chair and pulled Sherlock too him.

 

“I’m going to have to examine you Sherlock.” John put an arm around Sherlock and pulled him to his feet. “Your bedroom would be best.” John managed to drag Sherlock across the flat and into his room. He lay Sherlock on the bed and closed the door. “Probably best if Mrs Hudson doesn’t see you yet.” 

John got his first aid kit out and pulled on a pair of gloves. He started his examination by trying to take Sherlock’s pulse. Sherlock groaned as John poked and prodded him in all the usual pulse spots.

“I don’t have a pulse do I?” Sherlock asked as John rested his head over Sherlock’s heart trying to hear a heartbeat.

“You seem to be running in silent mode Sherlock.” John knitted his eyebrows together. “If that’s the case how the hell can you be breathing?”

“Autonomic response?” Sherlock replied. John shrugged it couldn’t really get much weirder. Next thing to look at was the gash in Sherlock’s neck, he put his fingers gently either side trying not to cause too much pain. Sherlock winced and groaned.

“Well both your carotid arteries are severed, your trachea doesn’t seem to be damaged, neither is your voice box.” John looked at the edges of the gash, they weren’t smooth like they should be from a knife attack. “Sherlock did he bite you?” Sherlock stilled a moment deep in thought.

“I didn’t see a knife John so it is entirely possible.” Sherlock sunk his head back further into pillow. John’s examination hadn’t hurt, it was just uncomfortable as if all the nerve endings were firing off at the same time. Sherlock rubbed his temples thinking of all the possible repercussions.

“Nothing about this is possible Sherlock. For all I know I could be trapped in some nightmare, only it isn’t a nightmare because you’re here and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Sherlock smiled.

“I’m hungry.” Sherlock said suddenly.

“What? You’re never hungry. Oh god you’re not going to eat me or anything.” John said pulling back.

“Oh for god sake John you’ve been watching to many horror movies.” Sherlock grinned, he was actually starting to find the whole situation rather funny.

 

It was midnight and the smell of frying beef filled the flat. Sherlock sat at the kitchen table and licked his lips in anticipation. John turned the steak over in the pan knowing even when Sherlock was alive he liked his steak rare and bloody.

“Sherlock, this is going to sound weird, but can I sleep with you tonight?” John said putting the steak on a clean plate.

“This whole situation is ‘weird’ John. No I don’t mind if you sleep with me just don’t steal the blankets.” 

“No I didn’t mean in your bed.” John stuttered his eyes widening. Sherlock looked disappointed. “But that’s a better idea. I just want to be near you as long as I can, just if this is a dream…” John put the plate down in front of Sherlock and felt long cold fingers ghost over his hand.

“This isn’t a dream John.” Sherlock replied. He tucked into the steak in front of him meticulously cutting it into little pieces. Then as John watched he took his first bite. It felt like his whole body was tingling, the taste of the blood in his mouth almost sent him over the edge in ecstasy. John watched as Sherlock’s eyes seemed to glaze over and turn almost black. Then he noticed Sherlock’s teeth and stood back for a moment.

“Sherlock?” He said quietly, Sherlock looked up at John his eyes snapping back to their pale blue colour. “I think there’s something going on with your teeth.” Sherlock licked along his top incisors to discover his canines were much longer than usual.

“Oh…” Sherlock had seen horror movies too. He thought about it for a moment then shook the thought back out of his head. 

“Do you have a craving for blood?” John asked curious. 

“No.” Sherlock replied annoyed. “I am rather hungry though.” He looked down at his plate. The two steak’s John had cooked were nearly gone and his stomach was still rumbling. 

“Do you feel any better?” John asked filling a glass with water and putting it down in front of Sherlock. Sherlock finished off the steak, it seemed the more he ate the better he felt. He smiled at John and he smiled back with a warmth Sherlock had never felt before. He felt like his heart had skipped a beat which was entirely impossible in the present situation.

“I do John.” Sherlock gulped down the glass of water. “I think we might have some explaining to do tomorrow. Possibly get Molly out of the psychiatric ward.” John raised an eyebrow at the statement. “She wasn’t exactly thrilled when I crawled out of the cold chamber.”

“Poor Molly.” John could only imagine the horror she felt as Sherlock crawled out of the refrigerator. “We’ll have to dress your injury though.” John stared at the gash, it could be his imagination but it seemed smaller. Sherlock grinned showing his canines, John shivered. “You might want to keep your mouth shut too, for a change. Just till we work out what we’re going to do with those teeth of yours.”

“Bed?” Sherlock asked noticing his friend was now swaying slightly. John mussed his hair with his hand.

“If you don’t mind. I haven’t slept in a couple of days.”

 

John lay next to his friend. It was impossible, crazy and yet he didn’t care. Mental ward be damned. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Two hours later he was still awake, he just couldn’t go to sleep. What if when he woke up Sherlock wasn’t there?

“You can’t sleep.” Sherlock mumbled next to him. John felt Sherlock shift his position so that he could see the glimmer of his eyes to his side in the moonlight.

“No.” John mumbled. Sherlock nuzzled up next to him and put his arm over his stomach.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He promised, John closed his eyes putting his trust in Sherlock.


End file.
